


Love is an ever present mark

by themysticalsong



Series: Tumblr Prompts [15]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysticalsong/pseuds/themysticalsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mom?"</p><p>A thread of fear runs through her at her daughter’s terrified, broken voice, a deep unsettling feeling. Dinah sits up. “Laurel? Is everything alright?”</p><p>Her voice sounds as if she is struggling with tears, her words sending a cold dread spiraling through her veins, “Mom, dad’s in the hospital-“</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is an ever present mark

 

 

 

"Professor Drake? "

 

Starting out of her thoughts, Dinah looks up, smiling at the nervous student from her first year history classes. After a few minutes the student leaves, but the anxious, nagging feeling that has plagued her since morning remains. For some reason, she finds herself unable to quell the thought of something being wrong. The horrible, gnawing feeling only intensifies as the end of the day nears.

 

She thumbs through her contacts- she has been doing that throughout the day- pausing at Quentin’s name when the phone begins to vibrate before ringing in her hand.

 

"Mom?"

 

A thread of fear runs through her at her daughter’s terrified, broken voice, a deep unsettling feeling. Dinah sits up. “Laurel? Is everything alright?”

 

Her voice sounds as if she is struggling with tears, her words sending a cold dread spiraling through her veins, “Mom, dad’s in the hospital-“

 

She continues with the hows and whys, but everything is noise in Dinah’s ears, the only words registering, ‘Doctors are trying to save him.’

 

There is nothing more she wants to know. As the wife of a police officer, she had always been aware of the fact that there can be one such day. But knowing it, having contemplated it, and being stared in face with it are different things. She may not be his wife anymore, the fear is just the same. It takes time to loose your hold over a lifetime of love.

 

She doesn’t acknowledge the tears, furiously packing the few things she will need. It’s middle of the night, but time is slipping from her fingers like sand particles. Quickly scribbling a note for Johnathan, Dinah picks up her bag and keys.

 

It takes her train a few hours to reach. She doesn’t sleep a wink, every moment restless, every blink bringing with it a vision of the pain etched on his face. Once there, she rushes to the hospital- to him. Its funny how every path she has ever mapped, every road she takes leads her to him.

 

She checks her phone. Laurel had texted her Quentin’s room number, floor details some time during the night. Her bag in tow, Dinah rushes to the room.

 

Its a moment straight out of her worst nightmare. A heart monitor beeping on the side, several tubes enter and leave his body. He looks paler than the walls of the room, cheeks gaunt. Her chest aches at the sight.

 

“Mom?” A bleary eyed Laurel looks up from the small couch where she lies tangled in blanket like a small frightened child searching for some comfort, clinging to her mother once she is closer.

 

Dazed and unable to look away fron her husband’s pale form, Dinah somehow manages to comfort her daughter. She convinces her to go home and have some actual rest. Its only after Laurel leaves that the enormity of their situation crashes upon her. Up close, that horrible feeling seems more daunting- repressing- eating away at her insides.

 

She settles into the chair next to his bed, but all of a sudden a distance of a foot- 12 inches- seems longer than 10 years- and two cities. Smoothing a hand over his hair, she moves to sit on the bed. “Quentin.”

 

She strokes his fingers, her thumb tracing his knuckles. Her heart instantly draws comparisons between the present and the last time she had done so- an unconscious action, a result of years of familiarity.

 

"Mrs. Lance, I assume?"

 

She looks up as the doctor addresses her, Quentin’s hand still in hers. And for a while, it seems it is the only thing anchoring her. The doctor informs her of the extent of his injuries, external and internal.

 

"Such injuries can take time, Mrs. Lance. He could regain consciousness in few days- it can also take few weeks. It’s too early to say if he’ll ever recover."

 

Her knees almost buckle under her. She swallows and looks at Quentin. There was a time he would have squeezed her hand, made lame jokes with that stupid smile, teasing her about being a police officer’s wife and scared.

 

Laurel comes back a few hours later, food and other such packets in her hand. Even though still terrified, she manages to convince Dinah to go home and freshen up.

 

How she manages the relatively short drive is a mystery to her. She has keys to Laurel’s flat, but her steps take her to Quentin’s home. Their home. She doesn’t have the keys anymore, but she hopes he still keeps the spare keys in the same spot as always.

 

There are some things even time can’t change. She hasn’t stepped over that threshold in several years. Stepping over it now- It feels like stepping back in time- everything exactly as she had left. She still remembers the day he had carried her over the threshold, a stupid besotted smile lighting their faces, and tripped at the stairs. There are memories of a wedding night spent entirely on the staircase and then on the floor, amidst laughter and loving touches. The bannister still shakes a bit.

 

She has been living apart for a long time, but the thought of living without him hurts. Putting her things away in his room, she freshens up as quickly as she can. There is a text from Johnathan asking her if everything is fine. She doesn’t reply, collecting a few things and leaves for the hospital. Its ironic how she had dashed Quentin’s hopes of her return because of Johnathan, and now that she is here, Quentin is-

 

No. She steadily reminds herself not to think of such things. But it’s difficult when her last memory of him is that of the broken, defeated look in his eyes. Her heart still aches for him- living apart doesn’t mean she is immune to his pain. How many times in past months she had thought about talking to him, picked up her phone and stopped at the last moment?

 

By nightfall she again finds herself by his bedside. She had somehow managed to send Laurel back home with the promise that she’ll be the one taking rest in the morning, and is now curled up in the chair next to his bed, once again cradling his hand in hers.

 

—x—

 

“Di?”

 

Warm fingers softly trace her cheeks as she opens her eyes, green eyes looking into his blue ones. “Quen-“, she begins, but stops when he touches a finger to her lips.

 

“Do me a favour?” She stares as he smiles, “No matter the years past, remember that I always loved you?”

 

The words, his calm smile unsettles her. There are words stuck in her throat, but emotions overtake them. “Quentin-“

 

He strokes her cheek with his thumb, cupping her face, and wipes her tears away. “Hey,” he kisses her forehead, her eyes fluttering close, “now put those tears away, love. Not very fitting of a police officer’s wife, hm?”

 

His words, his smile are unusually calm. Instead of soothing, they only increase her fear, oddly feeling like a goodbye. She sits up as his hand slips away from hers, her eyes flying open, “Quentin!”

 

Beeping of the heart monitor brings her back to reality. Smoothing her hand over his, she brings his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips over his knuckles. Tears cling to her lashes as she blinks, moving closer to the bed.

 

“Quentin?”

 

She misses the little hum he used to make in response. Still she continues to talk to him. Even though she knows he isn’t going to respond. Its a strange comfort at the moment.

 

—x—

 

Its a few days before Quentin regains consciousness. Dinah spends every moment she can by his side. She reads to him, talks to him. Its strange how old habits return so quickly. The only things amiss are his running commentary and stupid jokes for her to roll eyes at. Every night she drops a kiss against his temple before curling up in the same chair, his hand in hers. Sometimes the memories of her last visit raise their heads. It hurts to think that he had just given up at her admission, but somewhere is the realisation how defeated he must have felt. How broken. It’s not easy to see a lifetime slip away from you.

 

Sometimes she becomes annoyed with him, warning him with consequences if he does not wake up soon. It wouldn’t be the same, but she wants to see that giddy smile with which he had proposed on his stupid face again.

 

"Are you even listening to what I’m saying, Quentin?" Glasses perched on her nose, she is sitting curled up in the chair next to his bed, a book in one hand, his hand in the other. In past she used to just snuggle up to him, but in past, he had been awake- to replace every fear with petty annoyances and smiles. Her back protests constant mistreatment, but she refuses to move away from his bedside for longer than required. She has already been away for long enough.

 

"Do I have any choice?" He murmurs quietly, his fingers fluttering on her palm. Its his own playful reply, meant to tease and annoy her. Habit makes her roll her eyes, surprise makes her drop the book in her lap. With a gasp of his name, she rushes to call for the doctor.

 

It takes him another three days to be able to sit up, a few more for the doctors to be satisfied enough to let him go. And she is there with him all through it. It feels like an unspoken reconciliation. He doesn’t ask, she doesn’t say. In a strange way, it feels like old times once again. She still spends every night in the hospital, curled next to his bed, talking about everything and nothing, all at the same time. In the moments her thoughts haunt her again, it seems as if he can sense them- his fingers gently squeezing hers, with the softest whisper of his nickname for her, “Di.”

 

The day doctors discharge Quentin, she feels nervous. With Laurel’s help, she drives them back home. Its a good thing she is a neat freak- something Quentin had teased her mercilessly about in past- the house is clean and ready for him.

 

“Um..are you sure it’s a good idea to let dad stay alone? He is still to recover completely-“, Laurel asks her as they prepare a light lunch for the three of them. Dinah looks up at her daughter, her hand pausing as she stirs the broth. Turning away from her, Dinah begins to chop other vegetables, “Oh, he isn’t going to be alone. I’ll be staying with him.” She expects questions, none comes. Laurel only eyes her with a curious smile, Quentin tries not to look surprised.

 

After Laurel leaves, Dinah helps Quentin prepare for bed. The unreadable confusion in his eyes is foreign to her, if not a little hurtful. It doesn’t hurt because he is looking at her like that, it hurts because somewhere she has been the one to put that expression there. It’s no one’s fault, but somewhere both have been responsible for the cracks in their past.

 

She twists and turns in the guest bedroom, her swirling thoughts refusing to be quiet enough for her to sleep. The strange dream she had at the hospital, memories of her last visit- of time before that- combine into one nightmarish thought- what if Quentin hadn’t survived? Their last memory of each other would have been the strained unspoken goodbye at the station. She thinks about Johnathan- the couple of years they had been seeing each other. She thinks about Quentin’s boyish excitement when he had thought she’d come back for good. Come back to him. The memory of him in the hospital bed- struggling between life and death, still fills her with an unnamed fear.

 

Suddenly her own thoughts begin to scare her. She checks her phone. Ignores the 7 missed calls and several texts from Johnathan. Picking up her pillows and covers, she moves to Quentin’s room.

 

“And why are you still up? I thought I told you to sleep hours back.” One hand on her hip, another holding the pillow, Dinah raises an eyebrow at Quentin.

 

“And why are you here? I thought you had someone.” Without looking up from his book, Quentin retorts.

 

His voice is playful, teasing, but it stings. The surety from minutes before is replaced by a sudden nervousness. “Uh..I just— may be I should go.”

 

“Di, wait. I was just-“, he looks away for a moment before turning back to her, “I didn’t feel like sleeping. Weeks of sleeping can do that to you. I didn’t know how to talk to you, so thought to lull myself into sleeping by reading.”

 

She still hesitates, so he continues, “I didn’t mean it like that, Di- and, shit, may be I should just stop, yeah? Maybe we should start from scratch? Not like that, but—”

 

"I couldn’t sleep either. Too much on my mind.." she trails off, still at the doorstep.

 

He nods in understanding, “It must be difficult for you to stay here like this. Your work, your life there…”

 

"Quentin", she interrupts his line of thought, because frankly, she doesn’t want to think about it either, "is it really necessary to talk right now? I would really like some sleep." His eyebrows raised, he makes a face, and she suppresses her urge to smile. "Good night, Quentin."

 

"I thought you came here to sleep?"

 

She doesn’t know why his question makes her sputter in surprise, because really that was why she was there. “Uh..yes, I did.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, simply smiles and pats the space next to him. She stares at him in surprise, but quietly pads across the room to the bed.

 

She is about to turn off the lamp when he quietly murmurs, “I am sorry, Di.” Her hand stills. His words are an apology, not for his earlier teasing words. For the past years; for their fractured relationship. She whispers into the darkness around them, “I am sorry, too.”

 

—x—

 

Something shifts between them that night. Dinah constantly hovers around him, taking care of him. There are moments she finds him looking at her like he doesn’t understand who, what or why she is. They bicker and tease each other, he makes stupid jokes. Sometimes she wonders how did they ever manage to drift apart.

 

Every night they go to bed together, sometimes staying up reading, or she watches television, rolling her eyes at his commentary in background. Old habits die hard. Every morning they end up in the middle of the bed. A simple move, but it’s a testimony of a shift between them.

 

He still puts up a fuss, though.

 

"I am alright. See?" he pinches her bottom to demonstrate that, "Perfectly fine."

 

His smirk is unrepentant as she gapes at him. “I can see that.”

 

There are moments when he simply crowds her, reveling in her flustered huffs. He does that again, his eyes glittering with mischief. The disadvantage of being shorter than him is that he can always tower over her. He leans into her personal space, moving closer the more she backs up, until he has her backed flush against the wall. “You can see, yeah? Then quit fussing, and go enjoy the sun, woman! I’ll cook, today.”

 

"You sure you don’t want me to help?" She clears her throat, starting when he pushes her out into the yard, his hands on her waist. "No, and go."

 

Laurel laughs as Quentin begins to sing loudly to drown out Dinah's protests. "Good day, huh?"

 

Dinah smiles, sitting in the chair next to Laurel's, "Yes. At least it's better than him lying almost lifeless in hospital."

 

"Hmm", Laurel takes a swig of her drink, "dad on his road to another heartbreak is better than that any day."

 

"Laurel-"

 

"Oh, come on, mom. 'I have someone'? Don't you think it's better to tell him the truth than to lull him into a false situation? You are going to leave again. You always do."

 

Laurel's words cut through her. In the past month, she had almost forgotten about the life she had in Central city. For a brief moment, she had lost herself in time somewhere. She glances inside, watching Quentin hum some song, completely out of sync, and cook. As much his recovery speed makes her happy, it also means that she no longer has an excuse to stay with him. And isn’t it ironic that she needs an excuse to stay back with the person who wanted her to stay back in the first place?

 

She remains quiet throughout lunch, only talking when Quentin directly addresses her. Afterwards, she shoos him away to take some rest while she cleans up. It's more like some time taken to think about their situation. Is it a bubble for him, or has she been creating a bubble for herself? A few days more, and he will be able to return to his work soon. There is no reason for her to stay any more. Johnathan, her career, everything is waiting for her back in Central city. But will that be enough? Something glints in the light filtering through the drapes, and her eyes focus on the ring on her finger. How many times Johnathan had questioned her continued wearing of her wedding ring? How many times she had tried to convince herself that it was just a piece of jewellery and not a lifetime she doesn't want to put behind her?

 

The memories of her kidnapping flash in front of her again. The fear in his eyes when he had found her, the way he had pulled her into him, hovered around her all day like he was afraid something would happen to her if he looked away; his boyish smile- a perfect reminder of the moment he had proposed her all those years ago- and the sadness in them afterwards. The anger in his actions was not directed at anyone else but his own self. She had tried talking to him at the precinct, his refusal to meet her eyes had stopped her. She had always had the ability to break him. Her Quentin.

 

“Hey.”

 

She starts at his voice, dropping the cup in her hands. He grins as he catches it, a slight smirk on his face, “Everything alright?”

 

“Yeah. I was- I was just lost in thoughts.” She tries to smile, but it seems she failed, because he narrows his eyes, “Hmm.” He leans against the counter, picking up a cloth to dry the cup in his hands, following with every piece of cutlery she washes and places on the counter. “So, I was thinking- here, give that to me- yeah, so I was thinking, sooner or later, you are going to go back to Central. Maybe I can take you to dinner- as a thank you- before you do, yeah?” He is trying to smile- she can see him trying to be brave, but something inside her begins to break at that. “I thought a lost about it after you left last time-”

 

“Quentin-”

 

“-no, I think Sara was right. You have the right to live your life the way you want. Just because I refuse to move on, doesn't mean you don't have to either. I do hope one day you introduce him to me.”

 

She looks away from his false smile, unable to smile anymore. Her hands shake, tears blurring her vision. Quentin stands up straighter in alarm. “I didn't mean to hurt you, Di. If it bothers you so much, I'm sorry.”

 

“Would you just shut up for a moment, Quentin?!” She turns to him abruptly, tears finally falling. “I know what I said last time. I know. And I know what we had before that. I just—I don't want this anymore. Do you even have the slightest idea what I went through when you were unconscious in that hospital? Do you-”

The rest of her words are swallowed by him as he kisses her. A kiss meant to convey all that they find themselves unable to verbalise. Pulling her closer, he gently applies pressure until she parts her lips. His hands slowly move up her body, one hand cupping her face- stroking her cheek, another tangling in her hair. She can feel his heartbeats etch a tattoo against her palm. Pulling away, he rests his forehead against hers, his hand on her back spreading warmth throughout her being.

 

“I-”, a sudden thought nudges at her- there is a possibility that he might have found someone too. She looks up in hesitation, “Maybe I don't want to go back anymore?”

 

He blinks in surprise, and she wonders why she even harboured that doubt in first place. There are tears in his eyes too- he has always been the more emotional of two- his smile bright enough to light up the room, and suddenly there is an urge to laugh, something akin to happiness blooming within her. He holds up her hand, lacing their fingers. She laughs breathlessly, pulling away from him, smiling through the tears.

 

“May be you could stay?”

 

There are things they need to talk about. She needs to talk to Johnathan too. But there are more _pressing_ concerns at the moment.

 

“May be.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
